The Meaning of His Tears
by Adventuresomely
Summary: I never meant the words I spoke.


He's been crying at her grave for a while, now – since morning until the moon rose into the sky overhead. He was scared of the dark, but even the dark held no malice toward the grieving boy in this time. The light from the planet above, and those stars that littered the sky like little dots – they were enough to guide him, comfort him, ease him to sleep on her grave like a dog who has no home. Maybe he had no home anymore; he'd ruined it for everyone, stepped on her feelings and, as a result of his silent wishing and selfish, mean thoughts, it'd really happened. The tears never stopped. It was his fault, all his fault; he could've done something to stop it if he'd meant to. Claus had done something to stop it, but the younger twin had stood by at all his chances because he was weak and laden with guilt. It was pathetic, really.

"_I hope you die!"_

The memory echoed through his head painfully in the night, stirring his dreams with regret and despair, tainted with loneliness and longing for things to be normal once more. Part of him thought still, maybe it hadn't happened at all, and that he was caught in a particularly bad nightmare that he couldn't wake from. Perhaps he hit his head and was in a coma, like the ones people fell into sometimes before they died. That would be great; he would rather be the one who was dead or at least, dying. Dying... Death... They were looming figures that seemed so strange and distorted; he couldn't understand them or what their purpose was. Why should death come for any of them and take away from them the people they held closest? He couldn't understand, and wouldn't even try to grasp the concept, if only because such a concept was just too hard for him to bear on his own.

"_Mommy, I hope you die, you're so mean to us! We were just playing!"_

The meaning of his tears, one might say, was that he had no concept of the crushing reality that was death, and he had simply tossed the term around with his brother as if it hadn't meant a thing. He understood it, now, as he rest his head against his mother's grave, shaking from how cold it was outside without warm clothing or a jacket. He hoped if he pressed his ear against the Earth, he'd hear her talking to him again, hear her heartbeat in her chest and it would wake him from this delirium. He hoped and prayed and cried his heart out, but nothing ever came from the grave, set aside from his own sobs and strained breathing. The fresh soil got into his hair and smeared his tear stricken face, making him more filthy than he could even remember being even on his long 'adventures' with Claus. Even as he itched from insects crawling about his skin, biting him, he didn't move from his spot.

"_You boys don't mean that. I know you boys don't mean that."_

Even if she knew and even if they'd been ignorant of how serious death's implications were, the look of hurt on her face and the mere memory of it made him feel sick with himself – sick with guilt and sadness. She'd been so upset when she heard that, and if she'd told their dad what they'd said, they both would've been whipped until their butts hurt so much they couldn't even sit down. She didn't, though – and maybe it was because she felt she was being too harsh on them if they really wanted her dead. Hell if he knew what her thoughts were, though – he only could catch a glimpse of her feelings by the expression she wore. He wished he could take it all back and make up for it by doing extra chores and trying extra hard in everything he did. He wanted to, but time travel was a thing of fairytales.

"_I hate you, I hate you! Me and Lucas will run away some day and live in the forest together and we'll never have to see your face again!"_

Those harshly spoken words hurt so much to think about – he could only imagine how their mother must've felt at the time. They'd run off after that, him and Claus, in a fit of rage over what small thing had happened. It really had been a small thing, too – their mother was always keeping them out of trouble and trying to keep them from getting hurt when one of them got a 'clever' idea. This time she'd stopped them from using a slingshot to hit a wasp nest – something that most likely would've gotten them both into a lot of pain afterwards. He and Claus were so ungrateful and immature – their mother gave everything to them and all they did was take and take and never give back, instead telling her to die. Maybe she'd cried after they left – it was something he'd never know, and something he was better off not knowing as the guilt already ate away at him.

Just before they left, Lucas had caught their mother calling out to him one last time, and the words she spoke stung him to the center and left him wanting to tear out his heart.

"_Someday I'll be gone, boys...Someday I'll be gone."_

She was gone now – she was gone not even six months after this fight and he'd been so ungrateful for what he had. He had a family, a great family who cared for him and only wanted the best for him and his brother. He had everything he could've ever wanted, but he wanted more than that and, in the end, lost everything because of his greed. It was his fault for wanting and wanting, and even now he wanted for her to come back and hold him in her arms and tell him everything was okay. He wanted her to brush his hair for him, show him how to cook and knit and do things around the house. He wanted so many things, but he only needed one. He needed her to be alive again and needed her to love him and forgive him for being so selfish. He needed the one thing he would never have again.

All night he slept on her grave, shaking with his tears of guilt, sadness and unrequited love. He could wish and wish, but he knew now of death's finality as it steals the life force from one's body and takes it away to a colder, darker place. His tears would not be heard and he would never be able to say he was sorry for what he'd done. What was done was done.

The meaning of his tears would go unnoticed by all.


End file.
